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Her lip wobbles and so does the knife that rests precariously close to a very important artery. “Why couldn’t I remember? Why can’t I remember this?” She tilts her head toward the knife, and my heart constricts thinking about her not remembering the significance of her gift. The one item I held dear, the one item that saved my life and gave me hope.
“You tried to intervene, and my dad hit you. You banged your head on the coffee table. Martin went ape shit and made everyone leave.”
She touches the side of her head, as if remembering.
“I went home, and I did it, Tia. I did it for you.” The tears in her eyes flow freely now, but I continue on, “You should have seen it, Tia.” She gasps at my words, and her eyes search mine.
“I made it brutal.”
Chapter
Thirteen
TIA
“You should have seen it, Tia.” I gasp at his words and search his eyes for the truth behind them.
“I made it brutal.”
He repeats the words I once whispered to give him the strength he needed to fight against the monster who was his father. But instead of fighting that monster for himself, he withstood the pain and terror, and then he fought the monster for me.
His lip lifts at the side, as if proud of his actions, and with it, comes an increasing awareness that this man has always had my back. Repeatedly, he was traumatized, assaulted in the worst possible of ways, but the moment I was hurt, he took away the threat.
“I made him suffer for you,” he whispers, and goose bumps spread over me.
My body moves on it’s own accord, and I slam my mouth over the trail of blood running down his neck, flicking my tongueup toward his open mouth, where our mouths clash in a messy, intoxicating kiss.
The knife leaves his throat but remains in my palm as Lucas lifts me onto his lap while unbuckling his belt. We scramble in a tangle of desperate need; him pulling his hard, dripping cock from his pants, and me pushing my panties to the side. He lifts my ass, then slams me down onto his thickness. Without giving me a chance to accommodate him, he repeats the action. “Take all my cock, Tia. Stretch that little cunt for my cock,” he grits out as he powers into me.
I push his chin back, giving me access to the trail of blood on his throat, where I continue my assault by surrounding his cut with bite marks—a symbol of our love born in brutality.
My hands tangle in his hair to hold on, while he nips at the flesh on my neck, leaving marks. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
“That’s it, little girl, let Daddy fill you,” he mumbles against me while I bounce up and down on him. Then he grinds his hips, causing a flurry of arousal to build deep inside, the telltale sign of my orgasm building, and I beg for it. I need it to wash away the memories, to scrub them from my mind, to fill them with new ones. “Fill me!” I scream as my pussy convulses, and Lucas continues his assault on me.
I tug his head back by his hair and slam my mouth against his, and my body explodes, and his breathing stutters. He grunts, and with one final surge, his cock expands, and his mouth falls lax, but I continue my invasion on his mouth, pulling his bottom lip with my teeth, then sucking away the sting.
“Jesus,” he grumbles as the tension slips from him, and our bodies sag together in appeasement.
Our hearts beat in time as we come down from our quick, messy sex, and as we sit in silence, my mind is a hazy whirl of content.
“It was one of the hardest things I ever did,” he whispers as his hand strokes over my hair. Pity swims in my stomach thinking about him struggling to come to terms with killing his father, but he quickly eradicates it. “Knowing I wasn’t going to see you until you were older. But it was worth it for me. Or I thought it was, I thought you’d be safe, Tia.” I feel him shake his head above me. “I thought you’d be safe. But I was a silly boy with a stupid notion.”
“You didn’t know, Lucas. Nobody did. Not even Jace and he lived there.”
His body tenses. “But I saw what Martin was capable of. I saw the monster inside him, and I did nothing.”
I raise my head to stare into his gray eyes, the same gaze I would hold onto as a child hoping to give him strength, hoping he found solace in my presence.
“When we ended him, he didn’t even acknowledge me. He didn’t even know who I was, Tia.” His words are laced in hurt, and I hate it. The man who contributed to his trauma wasn’t even aware of him.
My eyes fill with tears at the pain in his eyes. Martin didn’t care about the boy who suffered in his basement, the boy he offered to friends for money. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sorry.” His finger grazes over my swollen eye and travels down to the finger marks on my cheek, then his jaw sharpens, and he grinds his teeth.
“I’m going to end them, Tia, and it’s going to be fucking brutal.” His familiar words send a shiver down my spine, and I suck in a sharp breath at the intensity behind them.
They’re filled with a dark threat of danger and a promise of vengeance.
